Sense of Doubt
by Dr Wattson
Summary: My name is Sherlock Holmes. I had an accident and woke up in 1978. Am I mad, in a coma, or back in time? Whatever's happened, it's like I've landed on a different planet. Now maybe if I work out the reason, I can get home.
1. January 27th

**Hello, my lovelies! I've had this spinning in my head for the past 12 hours and thought I'd jot it down. I like where it's going, it might end up with multiple chapters/stories in the long run, but for now it's just a one-shot. Crossover with Life on Mars (UK) and Sherlock, both © of the Beebs. Title comes from Bowie's 1978 album, Stage. It's my first crossover fic, tell me what you think!**

Sherlock hovered over the typewriter, his fingers hesitating. He had to make this perfect, to make it right, but no matter how many times he wrote this letter it never turned out how he wanted it. Wadded up balls littered the desk and floor around him, testaments of his want to get it right. He pulled the last paper out of the machine and laid it on the desk in front of him.

_John, _

_I don't suppose you will find this, but if you do, know this: I remember. _

_I remember everything: Baker Street. St Bart's. Lestrade. Mrs Hudson. Molly. Moriarty. You._

_I want you to know that I remember, that I never forgot, that I never will forget._

_I don't know how I got here; the last thing I remember of that day was jumping from the roof of Bart's. I remember the air whipping around me and the deep wrenching feeling in my gut melt away as gravity dragged me to my fate. I remember reaching out to you as I saw you run towards me. I don't think I would do that again. I know you don't have the real reason why I did what I did, but perhaps if I get back... __**when**__ I get back, we can talk about it all you want as you always want to drag things out of me._

_There is no way for me to say this without sounding completely off my rocker, but from all my observations, everything points to the fact that somehow I have travelled back in time. I am in 1978. There I said it. I'm most likely in a coma somewhere, but everything here seems real. I cut myself shaving last night and I felt the sting of aftershave on my cheek, it felt so real. I know you know by heart my phrase "__When you have __eliminated__ the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, __must be the truth,__" well I am here to tell you that time travel is impossible and I still haven't found the truth. I have no idea where or how or why I am here, except that I am. I suppose I have to deal with knowing that I will never figure this out. _

_I woke up in different clothes on a different street, but it was still St. Bart's. Everything is different here, but the same, if that makes any sense. There's no one I know here and no one knows me, which is odd to feel again after all the publicity in the last month... well last month for you, not me. I don't know if I'm going mad, but what I do know is that I am most definitely lost without my blogger. _

_It feels like I am in a dream, but I can't seem to wake up. I walk past familiar places but it's all different. I inquired at Baker Street for our flat, but it was taken up by a family of 3. The boy reminded me of you. I wonder if I could find you here, in this place. I wonder if I could find me. If I found us, would it rip a hole in the dimension of time, like all those science fiction shows you bang on about? _

_I found Lestrade. He's a young DC at the Yard, just beginning his first year in the position, and he is a gullible twat if I ever saw one. It is amazing how people can change over the years but still stay the same... If I get back I should commend him on becoming somewhat of a competent human being, he has come quite far. I'm more or less working in their morgue, the knowledge level of hygiene and protocols are horrendous. Molly would faint right out if she saw what was going on here._

_I'm scared, John. What if I never get back? What if I'm stuck in this Neanderthal place forever? If this is a dream, what happens if I die here? Will I wake up in the right time, or will I just go deeper and farther back? Will I just die? Are you a dream and this is my real life? I must admit it is getting hard for me to distinguish between reality and … whatever is not real anymore. The longer I stay here, the more I am convinced that I dreamt you up. _

_I'm trying my best to stay positive, but it is a very different place than I remember. Childhood puts a rosy tint on everything; either that or becoming an adult makes you jaded. Perhaps a little of both. I got a flat around the corner from our place. It's above a small shop that smells of chips, it's the corner grocer in your time. It's no 221B, but it does the job for now. I'm not planning on staying long, and it's a good thing because the wallpaper makes me queasy._

_I hope I do make it back. This place is changing me, and I don't like it. If you find this letter, know that I'm trying to make it back as soon as I can. Know that even if you are a dream, I will never forget. _

_Sherlock Holmes_

_January 27, 1978_

He stared at the paper in front of him. He supposed if there ever was a letter that could do his situation justice, this would have to do. It had a lot of his soul into it—admitting he was scared, afraid and confused—but it was the truth and that was the only thing he had left to hang onto right now. Sherlock folded it up carefully and placed it into an envelope. Now the only thing to do was to somehow get it to his blogger 34 years in the future.


	2. January 31st

_Dear John,_

_I have come up with an idea to get this to you. Obviously if you are reading this, then you realize that it was a success. I plan on opening a safety deposit box under a pseudonym and have instructions for it to be opened by you after my jump. I have already started using my new identity, Simon Hawke, so as to not jeopardize my future/past self. As you once told me, 'One Sherlock Holmes is quite enough for the world', and I plan on keeping it that way. Plus Lestrade would obviously remember a name much better than a face, and I try not to come in contact too much with him to avoid complications. Plus he's much more of a dolt now than in your time, and he really annoys me._

_I have been getting along as well as I can in this world. I miss the accessibility and technology of the 21st century. I feel as if I am in the dark ages. I constantly have to worry about whether or not I am infringing on inventions. They believe I am eccentric when I say odd things and then don't recognize what they are talking about. It is like we are on two different pages, and really we are. I had mentioned DNA analysis to someone, and now they call me the vampire in the morgue. Not that I care. If I ever get back, I will gladly hug Anderson, you have my word on that._

_Since I am without my dedicated blogger, I will have to document my cases by myself. Perhaps they will be a bit more accurate and faithful than your writings. Even so, I wish you were here with me, that way we would both be in this together and that I would know that I wasn't crazy. For the first time in my life, I have begun to doubt myself, and I don't like it._

_I am not a sentimental nor emotional person, you know this. But if I would ever be, I suppose I would say that I miss you, John. I do not have my skull to talk to._

_Sherlock Holmes_

_January 31, 1978_


	3. February 9th

_Dear John,_

_You'd be sorely disappointed in me. Even over this gulf of time I can hear you and Ms Hudson nagging me. I can't help it. Not that I have ever needed to validate myself to you or wanted your approval._

_I have taken up smoking again. It isn't like I tried to start again; it is just that everyone is smoking here. I know that I can ask a random person on the street and bum a cigarette and then walk into any establishment that I want and smoke to my hearts content. I am in heaven. I can even smoke in the morgue, which I have said many times that the corpses won't mind, but Molly wouldn't have it._

_Ahh, Molly. What I wouldn't give to have her here. I caught the lab assistant eating pickled kippers over top of the liver samples, dripping all over the place and the tin can next to the lab equipment. Nasty things, kippers. I could smell them over top of the decaying corpses for a week._

_Despite my relapse into smoking, you would be proud of me. (Once again, not like I need your approval) I have solved six of the "cold" cases they had in backlog; simple things really. Nonetheless, I've caught the attention of the new Detective Inspector, a brutish man and barely an interesting subject, Gene Hunt. He is very easily manipulated and I should be able to stop with this morgue nonsense and get to the real chase: Consult detective. I shall have him eating out of my hand by the end of the week and back to my old routine. Mostly._

_I've started having the dreams again. I know I never spoke of them to you in Baker Street, but I know that you knew I was having them. I heard your calculated footsteps leaving behind my bedroom door; stepping in precise locations as to not creak the floorboards. It comforted me a little to know that you knew but was too afraid to mention it. I appreciated your tact. Though you were rubbish at being quiet. No wonder you were shot in the war._

_I've been getting little sleep because of them, and it has been a trying week. I dream of Moriarty and of falling from the roof of Bart's. But mostly of falling. I have heard others of having dreams of falling and waking up before they hit. I am never that lucky. I always seem to hit and I feel the pain in my bones-the joints coming out of place and my blood pooling like a halo around my head and I finally wake up to the sound of his sadistic laugh ringing in my ears._

_I have been having thoughts of tracking Moriarty down now and killing him. If I do it, I would change the future that much I know. He has influenced so much, caused so much damage. I am sure that even if I take him out now, another would rise in his place-that is the way of things I fear._

_But I would be back. I would have never jumped; never fallen; never had a reason to be up on that roof in the first place. I wouldn't have bad dreams. I have never willingly taken a man's life, but I have no doubt that I would not hesitate on this. Know this John: If I find him, his life will be mine. I have that right as he took mine._

_Sherlock Holmes_

_February 9, 1978 _


End file.
